Soul
by Espera
Summary: Zexion, abused by his dad, forgotten by his mom, has no friends. So he is very surprised when one day a strange blond boy sits down next to him at the park. Little did he know this kid had something amazing about him. This summary says nothing i want it t
1. Chapter 1

Haii thurr. lol. so, this is my first story. i actually wrote a bit of an outline some time ago and finally got bored enough to write it. So yeah, uh..read it? Yeah? good idea. yes.

disclaimer: DO NOT OWN. just teh story line

Many young victims of divorced parents were spoiled; either by the mom, or the dad, or both, in a desperate attempt to buy their child's love. As if they're trying to make up for the fact that their marriage hadn't worked. Some kids are given ice cream, money, cars, or are taken out a lot, like to restaurants, movies. Or if one parent moved away, they would send everything by mail.

But Zexion was not one of those many. He was never given cars, money, and hell, sometimes not even food. The only thing he got from his mom and dad were headaches and bruises, respectively.

Zexion absentmindedly fingered a fading bruise on his upper left arm whose fingers were curled around the rusty chains of an old red swing, worn an odd salmon color from decades of pudgy, giggling children, plopping them selves down, and shouting at their parents to push them higher, higher, until the height made them scream with delight as they left their stomachs at the top. Zexion sighed.

For Zexion, bruises were a constant. They came in regular supply from his father. He had once been intrigued by them; their odd colors, mostly brown, sometimes green or purple; how they left an dull, unfocused hint of pain then poked, but were otherwise out of mind. But he quickly learned that they were all the same. They all hurt, and they all said the same thing: he was a nobody. He meant nothing, and deserved what he got.

Not only was it bad enough that his dad hit him, he couldn't even talk to his mother about it. His mother had an odd memory problem. She was not able to remember anything about her family or her life after she got married. For some reason, she thought she was herself from 15 years ago. She set food outside the door every day for a cat that wasn't there, and rode her bicycle to work her old shift at Hy-vee. The Hy-vee manager had at first been miffed at her determination to arrive every day at 9:00 am despite the fact that she had no job. But once, he had asked her how old she was, and she had replied 25, very seriously, he had determined that something was amiss, and kindly gave her a job restocking shelves. At the time, she had been 40, and even though that is not considered old, it was apparent with her features.

So Zexion couldn't really talk to her. He'd tried before. She'd either call him Dean, her old paper boy, he supposed, and give him a dollar and a quarter, or if he actually made it in, he'd start talking about his dad, and she would get nervous and suspicious of how Zexion knew her, and ask him to leave. So it would do no good to tell her about his father. So Zexion didn't try anymore. He didn't try talking to his parents, and he didn't try talking to other people. So, resultingly, he had no friends. Swinging idly, dragging his feet, Zexion sighed. Who would want to be his friend anyway? He was a horrible person; people made sure he knew that, every day at school. Well, not everybody. The people that could bully him, would. The others would just stand by and watch, afraid to stand up for him for fear of who they were standing up to. So they would just ignore how Zexion was kicked, hit, tripped, teased, stolen from, made fun of because of his hair, his clothes, his grades (no matter what they were, though Zexion commonly had A's), and even his mom, who they all knew about, because she did work at Hy-vee. So often times Zexion was left kneeling in the middle of his scattered papers, degraded to the ground, eyes downcast, as the bell rang for next period.

Public humiliation every single day. He hated the feeling of it, swirling in his gut, stinging behind his eyes; how it made him feel worthless. But there was nothing he could do. He was small, weak, and startling skinny from lack of food. His father provided cereal for breakfast every day to avoid, Zexion supposed, getting busted for child abuse. But he left Zexion to fend for himself for the other two meals of the day. School provided lunch, but since Zexion had no money and no friends, he often went without supper. Today he had had only breakfast (cornflakes today), because most of his lunch had been knocked to the floor by a "clumsy" kid on his way to his table. How he had fallen around three kids and over his backpack off at an angle from a potted plant and had succeeded in knocking only Zexion's food off his tray to the floor, he had a suspicion, but did not voice it. He would just have to hide better next time. So, seeing as it was now approaching supper time, Zexion was appropriately ravenous. His stomach growled out loud, and he sighed again. Digging the toes of his ratty sneakers into the dirt, he thought about food.

Zexion had been alone in the park this whole time (which is why he had chosen to come, because it was deserted. It was suppertime), so he was rightfully surprised when a boy about his age thumped down in the swing next to him and greeted him rather loudly with a cheery "Hiya!"

With only one had on the swing and his toes still in the dirt, the action of twisting most of his body around to see the noisy intruder caused him to fall backwards off the swing with a thud.

"Ohmigod, are you all right?" the stranger panicked, jumping up from his swing in alarm.

He didn't know what to do with himself, Zexion noted as he mumbled "um...I'm fine..." from his place on the ground. He hoisted himself back onto his swing wincing at both the new bruise on his tail bone, and the bruise on his pride.

"I'm so sorry about that. Didn't mean to scare you.." the stranger said, sitting gingerly back down on his own swing. "My name's Demyx."

Zexion blinked at the sudden supply of unrequested information and stared at the boy for a few long seconds before he realized that he was now supposed to give his name.

"My name is...Zexion." He couldn't remember the last time he had told someone his name. But that tidbit of information seemed to please this Demyx boy greatly, for he broke out in a huge grin. He was actually an interesting sight. He didn't smile like most people; he put his whole face into it. His cheeks were brushed with pink, and his eyes sparkled brightly, like sun on a pool of water. He had what looked like the love child of a mohawk and a mullet, and an elegant, creamy neck, which was the only other bit of skin showing besides his face, because he was wearing what seemed to be a black trench coat with combat boots. His slender, gloved fingers were curled around the chains of the swing tightly as though he was afraid that he too would fall off the swing as he turned his body to face Zexion.

To face him. _Him_. Zexion realized that he was staring and that Demyx was still smiling that amazing smile. He quickly looked away, ashamed with himself. He had made eye contact. Eye contact was forbidden for him. His father hit him for it, and the kids at school noticed him when he did it. But those weren't really the main reasons why Zexion avoided eye contact. To him, looking into someone's eyes was like looking into their soul, and often times he didn't like what he saw there. Hatred and malice were common, but mostly what he saw was pity, and pity was the feeling that Zexion hated most. It seemed that being himself made people feel sorry for him. It made him feel even weaker than he already was. It was hard to put into words, really. Grateful he hadn't looked into Demyx's eyes too long, he got up to leave.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Demyx asked, scrambling to fall in line next to Zexion as he walked away. "Can I follow you?"

Zexion faltered in his step, then stopped. He darted his eyes around, looking anywhere but at Demyx, who had stopped next to him and turned to face him. Why? Whatever for?

"Where?" he asked quietly, confused.

"Well, wherever you're going!" Demyx smiled again.

"I...I'm going to my father's house..." he admitted.

"Well!" Demyx said, his body showing just how excited he was to start walking on a journey to a new place. "I'll follow you home!"

Zexion started to walk again, Demyx quickly falling in step beside him. "I wouldn't really call it...'home' exactly."

"Demyx furrowed his eyebrows. "But you live there, right?"

Zexion, after a few steps, turned his head slightly without really looking at Demyx and opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and looked straight ahead again. Then just as Demyx was going to ask what he was going to say, Zexion turned his head towards him again and said, choosing his words carefully, this time looking at Demyx's neck instead of a nearby tree, "There's a difference between where you live and what you call home."


	2. Chapter 2

Demyx hadn't really known what he was looking for. His only instructions were "Locate teen male Six Echo. Short stature, black clothes, alone. Similar subject type may exist, so search until acknowledged and liberate his true disposition." He was also given coordinates.

Right...did they ever pick the wrong guy for this one...He had never had a teen gig before; there weren't many of those. His missions were almost always little kids who outgrew him within weeks. Easy peasy. But this one was different. Teens were on a whole different spectrum than little kids; less easily fooled, and they had more drama in their lives which meant more thinking, and thinking makes you tired.

Besides, what does liberate even mean anyway?

But Demyx had accepted the mission. Knowing how many teen boys there were in the world, he had thought that finding any particular one would be hard, especially when his coordinates led him to a park in the middle of a suburb. But the park and the streets around it had been empty, probably because it was supper time, and there was only one kid that matched the limited description he had been given. Well, there was only one kid in the whole area. Sure he had found the right one, Demyx sat himself down next to him on a swing and said hello.

However, his subject had not been aware of his presence, so when he sat down, he ended up startling the boy into falling off the swing he had been sitting on, his limbs comically flailing, and his legs ending up still on the swing while the rest of him hit the ground hard. He hadn't meant to scare him, honest! He hopped up to help, but just stood there, not quite knowing what to do. He was greatly relieved when the boy managed to get back on the swing by himself, accepting Demyx's apologies for scaring him awkwardly.

Once the boy seemed properly seated again, Demyx introduced himself. The boy, after a moments hesitation, said that his name was Zexion. What an interesting name! And interesting features to go with it. Demyx smiled as he took in the boy's appearance; he had silky, bluish grayish hair that covered a lot of his soft, but exotic-looking face, and was wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans, both of which were form-fitting, but hung loosely on his underweight but seemingly slender frame. But what Demyx liked most upon first glance were his eyes. They were a piercing yet milky blue that seemed to delve into the deepest part of his soul and understand everything. They held a lot of wisdom for someone his age; what was he, 14, 15? But Demyx would have to ask later, because the kid suddenly blushed, looked away, and started to leave.

Had Demyx done something wrong? He didn't think so. He scrambled after the kid, yelling at him to wait. He couldn't really leave the kid, after all. Demyx quickly shouted the first thing that came to his mind; he asked if he could follow him. To Demyx's relief, he stopped, but seemed confused as to why Demyx would want to follow him. When Zexion said that he was going to his fathers house, Demyx had been ecstatic that the boy was open to him following him home. Then Zexion said something that confused him a little. He said that he wouldn't really call his father's house "home". Demyx, confusedly, pointed out that he did live there, but then Zexion countered with an even more confusing statement: "There's a difference between where you live and what you call home."

Demyx had never thought about it that way. What kind of life did this kid have? Walking next to Zexion the rest of the way, he noticed that Zexion hadn't made eye contact since the encounter on the swing, when Demyx scared him off his. Demyx wanted to see those eyes again.

Measuring his steps to walk in time with Zexion, Demyx kept his eyes on the ground and his hands in his pockets, idly whistling an unidentifiable tune. Every now and then he looked up to check in with Zexion, but Zexion never looked at him. He seemed to be worrying about something, and Demyx was getting antsy.

"What's up?" He asked carefully, noticing how Zexion's features softened a little upon remembering that someone was with him.

Zexion didn't say anything for a few moments. Then suddenly he said, "You should go home." What if this blond boy wanted to come inside? What would his father do? He knew his father didn't approve of him bringing people home. Would he hurt Demyx?

"What? Why?" Asked Demyx, confused.

"If you were planning on accompanying me all the way to my father's house, I think you should reconsider. He might... not like you." Zexion said, worry in his features again.

"Well, we'll have to see about that!" Demyx said with a wink. "You see, nobody except you can-" But Demyx was cut off abruptly as an angry bellow came from a couple houses down the sidewalk. Demyx guessed it was the boy's father, seeing as Zexion stiffened and quickened his step.

"Zexion! Do you know what fucking time it is? I needed you home half an hour ago. Where the hell you been?!" Zexion's father yelled as Zexion reached the stairs to his house, trotting up them to meet his dad in the doorway.

"'M sorry father, I didn't know." He said timidly but with, what Demyx noticed, great distaste. "I was at the park. Father," turning his head towards Demyx, "this is-" But his father didn't care what he had to say, and yanked Zexion inside the house by his shoulder.

"I have a meeting to go to and I needed this shirt ironed," he scolded, gesturing to the shirt he was currently wearing. "but since you decided to tromp around and not come home, I had to fucking iron it myself. You know, I put this roof over your head, and I give you a place to sleep so you'd think the least you could do was be home when I need you!" He shouted, shaking Zexion by the shoulder increasingly as his voice increased. "God dammit!" he yelled in frustration, releasing Zexion and giving him a shove towards the stairs causing him to stumble and clip his right shoulder on the railing. Just then, his watch beeped. "Now look what you've done! I'm late! Go to your fucking room!" he shouted, already storming into the kitchen looking for his car keys.

Demyx stood, wide-eyed, watching the whole encounter from his place just inside the door. Once Zexion's father was in the kitchen, Demyx released a breath he hadn't known he had been holding and rushed over to Zexion, who was struggling to get up on the stairs. It looked like it hurt to use his right arm, and it also looked like he couldn't stand up very easily. Demyx silently grabbed Zexion's uninjured arm and gently hoisted him up, steadying him as he lead the way to his room.

Wincing in pain as he sat down on his bed, Zexion took off his shoe and sock on his left foot and said, oddly calmly, "I think I twisted my ankle." Then he pulled his shirt collar down to look at the already forming large, angry purple bruise on his pale shoulder. "I think that will be fine," he said not so confidently, pulling his collar back up. "I'm sorry that you had to see that. I'm just glad it was me and not you." Zexion said quietly as he started to get up.

"NO! No, sit back down!" Demyx shouted wildly, gesturing for Zexion to sit back down as he stepped over to stand in front of Zexion. "You'll hurt yourself. Is there anything I can get you?" He said with concern.

"I was just going to get you a chair or something." Zexion said almost to himself as he relaxed back down on the bed, his injured ankle out in front of him.

"Nonsense," Demyx said, "I'll just sit next to you." He sat down on the bed next to Zexion. But before Zexion could say anything, Demyx started talking. "What is wrong with you dad? What was all that for? That was insane. Does he do that all the time?"

Zexion realized that he wasn't going to be able to escape answering, both with Demyx's persistence and his twisted ankle.. Resignedly he said, "Yes, he does. Today, though, I thought his meeting started before school got out, so I was safe. But I was wrong..." he said, his face holding an odd emotion. "You know, the first day of third grade, I brought home someone I had met that day. My father got angry and shrieked at the kid to go home. After he ran away, my father hit me and told me, basically, that I was not allowed to have friends because I didn't deserve them. I brought one more kid home after that, but he did the same thing. This time, I was sure it would happen again, but it didn't. He didn't even seem to see you." He seemed puzzled.

Demyx had been going say that everyone deserves friends, especially Zexion, until Zexion said that last comment. His face changing quickly from sympathy to a light grin he said "That's 'cause he couldn't."

Zexion looked up, his face showing worry and confusion again. "What?" he said, briefly looking at Demyx's eyes to check and see if they held the truth.

Demyx waited a few moments appreciating the beauty of Zexion's searching eyes before he said "Yup! As I was going to say before, before we were so _rudely_ interrupted," he narrowed his eyes at Zexion's closed bedroom door, "was that only you can see me. You see..." Demyx said, hesitating, "I'm your imaginary friend."

Demyx was sure that the next emotion Zexion would show would be surprise, but it was in fact Demyx who was surprised at what Zexion said next. Looking at the toes of his injured foot, Zexion replied with a sigh. "I guessed as much."

Incredulous, Demyx gaped at Zexion. Usually he had to walk through walls to prove to little kids that he was imaginary. Even then, they'd ask him how he had done that, and insisted that he showed their moms and dads. But then Demyx remembered that this wasn't a little kid. But still? How had he known? So Demyx asked him. "How..how could you tell??"

Resignedly, again, Zexion said, "Who would want to be friends with me? The only alternative was that you weren't really there and I was making you up. Seems like I was right." Zexion sighed, but went on, turning Demyx's feeling of pity to surprise yet again. What more did he know? "Besides, at the park, I couldn't smell you, and that's why you scared me so much. Even now I can't smell you. Everyone has a scent. That's how-nevermind." he paused, dismissing that comment with his hand. "But anyways, you don't. Also, when you helped me up the stairs, you felt different. As soon as you touched me, all I saw was...was blue, and..." he seemed to be struggling to find the right words. "Touching you was like touching water. You can feel the surface, and it's pleasant, but your hand sinks through anyway until it can find something more solid...I don't even know what that means. I'm sorry. It's harder to describe than it is to remember it." Zexion finished, looking at his own hands. It had also felt amazingly good to be touched after years of no physical contact except pain, even if the other party was barely real. But he didn't voice that comment.

Demyx was still gaping at Zexion when he finished. He tried to compose himself, but couldn't stop himself from staring. He had forgotten that he could not touch things. He reached out his hand to rest his hand on Zexion's shoulder as a test. His hand sunk right through and he retracted it quickly.

Zexion stared at the hand that had just passed through him, his brows furrowed, already deep in thought. How could Demyx have touched him then if he cannot touch him now? He would have to do some research. But for now, he was tired. Too much happened today. He had to recharge. Ignoring Demyx's pleas to sit back down, he limped over to the closet telling Demyx that he was just changing for bed.

Demyx sighed, knowing he couldn't physically stop him. He watched him as he reached his closet. He started to turn his head when Zexion took off his shirt, but stopped when he saw Zexion's body. The boy was way too skinny. Many of his ribs were visible and his shoulder blades jutted out with each movement of his arms. Demyx also noticed he had a few faded scars. But his observations were stopped short when Zexion slipped on a stray shirt out of his closet. He also kicked off his pants, opting to remain just in his boxers rather than put on pajama pants.

Turning back around, Zexion took a step and a limp towards his bed, but stopped. He stared at Demyx, contemplating. Demyx stared back, if not a little wide-eyed, concerned about Zexion, but also painfully aware that he had not turned away when Zexion undressed.

"Do you sleep?" Zexion asked suddenly.

Caught a little off guard, Demyx stuttered,"Um, well no, not really."

Demyx didn't really need to sleep, himself. His "kind" you could call it, didn't really need to, although they could if they wanted to. They didn't need as much sleep as these people here did. A couple hours every few days usually did the trick. So, often times, unless he felt like sleeping, Demyx had a lot of free time at night. Since there was no one to talk to, and he couldn't exactly pick up a book, Demyx, like others on missions, used this free time to check in with Xemnas.

"Ok. Well..." Zexion stood there, a little awkwardly. "I do."

Demyx, understanding that obvious statement said, "I can stay and sleep if you want me to, but I usually check in with headquarters at night when you don't need me."

Zexion nodded, skeptical. "I see." He shifted his weight, eyes flicking up to meet Demyx's for a brief moment.

Demyx suddenly realized he was the cause of all the awkward, as he was still sitting on Zexion's bed. _That's probably why he's staring at me..._Demyx thought. "I'll, er, get off your bed now. Sorry." he said, sheepishly, springing off it and moving to stand by the wall.

Zexion limped over to his bed and eased himself down onto it. He gingerly placed his injured foot on top of the covers. Not wanting to risk further injury, he decided to sleep without blankets

Checking again to make sure Zexion was asleep, Demyx lightly stepped to the middle of the room. He raised his arm out in front of him, palm extended. Sweeping his arm out in front of him in an arc, swirls of black and purple appeared, accompanied by a slight gusting sound that seemed to emanate from the darkest corners of the room. It grew until it was larger than Demyx himself, swirling and dancing in place. Lowering his arm, Demyx glanced over at Zexion to see if the noise had woken him. Sensing no change, he stepped into the portal.

Heyyyy guys .;; i know, its been many moons since I put the first chapter up. I have...no excuses. I am just lazy. And very busy. Wait, thats an excuse. And its true too...very busy *feels tired at thoughts*. Anyways, this chap is unbeta'd. The next one will be tho, so don't worry! muahahaha.

...

review plz?


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